


dwindling sorrow and courage found in hands held

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: (I'll add tags if i need to), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retcon Powers, talks about feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sburb forces its players to confront themselves, yet somehow the Heir of Breath has avoided that fate.





	1. I - John

The game- won, but not quite conquered- left John the exact same way he was before the world ended: isolated and without purpose. 

Before, he had his dad and the colored texts of his faraway friends on the computer screen to keep him company in the quiet, seemingly desolate suburb he lived in. John hadn’t quite noticed how strange it was then-- but thinking back, he wondered if he ever would have had any friends at all if it weren’t for Jade’s foresight. The streets had never been played on, yards were always empty. John could barely remember anything from his time in school, faces and names of the peers and teachers blurred progressively as his memories faded each day. 

Currently, John sat with his legs dangling off the edge of his balcony, slumped forwards to rest his forehead against the steel bars as he watched the lights of Cantown paint the horizon’s midnight sky a yellow hue. The only lights nearby for miles.

He sat, listening to the crackle of the radio in his room play a soothing tune, thinking of the days gone by since the end of the world. 

Ten years have passed since they created the new universe, and a lot of things- things he tended to regard with fondness- had happened since. Giving new life to civilization, Rose getting married to Kanaya, friends all finding their peace in a kind world-- just, knowing that you were safe, that no galaxy-swallowing hell of a game would try to kill you anymore. 

Aradia had informed everyone in the chipper tone she always used, that Sburb didn’t exist anymore. That none of them were _god tiered._ They couldn’t die a just or heroic death, as each and every victor were invincible now. everyone’s powers had broadened, their roles no longer important, only existing as a grandiose title-- an Heir of Breath would wield the same abilities as a Seer of Light, but… instead of _light_ it was, y’know, _air._ Nobody’s class were more significant or powerful than the other. 

It was as though each year that passed, their powers melded together more and more, game rules blurring along the guidelines-- becoming more alike true gods, able to manipulate anything however they wanted. Could heal and change any parts of themselves they liked. But John guessed they were still human (or, alien?) and old habits die hard, because he still wore his glasses to this day. 

Or at least, that’s the gist of what he’d learned. John didn’t pay much attention anymore to what went on during the meetings the others held every few months. He barely even attended them in the first place. 

Partly because John often felt like he shouldn’t be there anyways, but most importantly… he still had his retcon powers.

It wasn’t that big a deal at first. After the last jump through spacetime, when him and Roxy had rendezvoused on the lilypad together with the others, John had thought he’d never need them again. Or he wouldn’t have, if it wasn’t for the fact that somehow, the retcon powers had started using _him_ more than John controlled them. 

The first time it happened, he’d been on the beach with Jade and Dirk, two months after the creation of Earth C. Dirk had been (even though he persistently denied it) missing the ocean, so Jade decided to drag him out of his room and take him there-- somehow (with threats) making John tag along as well. 

Jade had forgotten to take the towels with her (arguing that John could probably just “dry them off with some wind!!”), and was already knee-deep into the water and pumped as hell to swim, so she asked John to retrieve them from the shared house they had lived in together. He had, begrudgingly, flown back and done just that, and was on his way back to the beach when he noticed his hand glowing an all too familiar white-blue. 

He had managed to make it go away by waving his arms wildly in panic, dropping the towels onto the sand dunes in the process. 

When Jade had later asked him about their sandy state, John… elected not to tell her about the retcon powers acting up. He’d thought, after all, that it was just a one-time deal, and it was probably better if the others didn’t have to worry about it. They had their own problems and traumas to deal with, anyways. So John lied, telling her he’d tripped over a rock.

It just so unfortunately turned out that it wasn’t a one-time thing. Not at all. 

After the beach event, occasionally there were moments where John would feel a surge of energy, a tremor through his veins and down his spine. Then the light would come back, blooming across his skin. 

So, he started wearing longer sleeved shirts and hoodies, going so far as modifying his god-tier getup with pockets to hide his hands in. Still, John figured it would pass soon. 

He’d moved out of the shared house (which had been built by several enthusiastic carapacians who were eager to help their new gods) once he turned eighteen. Returned to his old home that stood unchanged (though moved), even though they aged the world thousands of years. The same pictures and paintings still hung on the walls, showing snapshots of a dead world and a dead father. Not a single spec of dust had accumulated since it was abandoned last.

And gradually, John stopped talking to his friends. He answered pesterings but never initiated any, excused himself from social interaction by claiming he just wanted to be alone or didn’t feel like it when they asked him to attend the meetings held every other month, choosing to stay inside his room instead.

Or in some rare cases that had become more commonplace recently, running as far as he could manage into the woods surrounding his house just to get that thrumming energy to stop, to get his mind off of things. It didn’t always work, and John would-- secretly, because he would never want his friends to know of how- how _angry_ he couldn’t help but feel-- raise his arms up and rip entire trees by the root out of the ground with gusts of wind. He’d throw them, viscously snap them in half, just to do _something._ Because he wouldn’t know how to talk to anyone, and the dreams he saw at night made sleeping a new kind of hell he didn’t want to face, riddled with memories that weren’t his.

But it got worse. 

Now, there were times when John would double over and clutch his stomach from the overbearing shock of whatever it was curling in the pit of his stomach, ice cold and sharp, like crystals growing inside of him. It wasn’t painful, not the piercing kind of pain that he’d felt inside the game from going limp on blades. It was just… overbearing. 

Once, on a late night when he was brushing his teeth before bed and he washed his hands, John had gasped and choked on air when he suddenly felt an unseen grasp _twist_ something inside him, before he had glitched and teleported in a burst of light straight into the bathroom wall. John had coughed in pain and part confusion, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the tile. When he steadied his weight against the sink, he caught sight of himself-- and his eyes were radiating that haunting, white glow again, like someone had trapped LED-lights under his corneas.

He wondered if that’s when he’d started to loathe himself. 

That train of thought was cut short when he heard his phone chime with a notification inside his pocket. 

He considered ignoring it, but after the fifth ring within less than a minute, John gave in and pulled it out. As he entered the code to unlock it, he was met with a familiar orange text filling his screen. 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 02:39 AM

TT: John.  
TT: I need you to do us both a favor head straight the fuck to bed.   
TT: There’s a meeting tomorrow and I’m telling you right now I’ll drag you there myself if you don’t attend it.  
TT: I don’t know when you gained the same atrocious sleeping schedule as I, but you have it, so I know you’re awake right now.  
TT: Dude.  
TT: Okay if you’re actually, currently asleep then I guess that’s on me. When you read this later, you know where to go.  
TT: That is, straight to the meeting.

John couldn’t pinpoint exactly _when_ or even why (regarding how the first conversation went, back in the game) he’d started talking to Dirk, but somewhere along the line he’d stumbled into a conversation with him on pesterchum, and found that Dirk was nearly always online to talk (John assumed the guy just didn’t sleep). And somehow, just checking in on how Dirk was with a short ‘hey’ every so often had eased the hollow feeling John so often felt. 

He quickly started typing out a response.

EB: oh, hey dirk!

TT: Called it.

EB: yeah yeah, whatever.  
EB: why do you want me to come to the meeting so bad?  
EB: i mean… i don’t really have that much to contribute you know, unless they need me to whip up some kind of hurricane all of a sudden!!

TT: John we’re gods now, remember?  
TT: We have duties and shit. Or, at least the others do. We’re literally this world’s creators. Gotta preserve peace and unity, and all that.  
TT: It’s not constantly about our powers.

EB: okay… still doesn’t explain why you’d need me there! aren’t rose and karkat and like, literally everyone else already busy with that stuff??

TT: Well firstly, I’d point out you haven’t been to a meeting for almost half a year. May want to catch up with what’s going on in the world.  
TT: Secondly, I can’t really stop the wandering package of explosive positivity that is Jade goddamn Harley from barging into your house at any opportune moment to check if you’re okay. And let me tell you, she’s starting to get worried.  
TT: Everyone is, really.

EB: well, tell them that there’s no need for that! i’m fine, dude.

TT: Why don’t you just fly over tomorrow morning and tell them that yourself?  
TT: Come on, man, it’ll be fine. You don’t even have to be there for long. What’s stopping you?

_Several things._

EB: ...okay, fine!!!  
EB: i’ll come over for a bit. but only for a little bit!

TT: Sweet.  
TT: But yeah, goodnight.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 02:48

EB: night.

John clicked the off-switch with a sigh, watching the screen turn dark again. 

His gaze trailed up past the vastness of the forest before him, once again taking in the city lights on the horizon that resembled the stars above it. Like they were melting into each other, sky and town into a puddle of lanterns and nebulas. 

John frowned at the semi-poetic thought. The sleep deprivation really was starting to get to him. 

Placing a hand on the railing, John hauled himself up, leaving the city behind him as he headed inside. His room was completely dark except for the small, blinking blue lights on the radio in the corner of his desk. He turned it off with a press of a button. 

John removed his glasses, folding them before dropping them with a clatter on the bedside table. He didn’t bother taking his clothes off-- not like it mattered if he did-- and crept in under the cool, linen covers. 

Sleep took him within seconds. 

\---

There’s something about Earth C’s good days that make them especially beautiful. 

The newborn sun lit the fields of wheat like a golden sea, the breeze rustling the grain into wave-like motions as John flew over them. The few clouds below him parted ways as the wind picked up in his trail, and the long hoodie of his heir attire rippled with every turn and pivot. 

No worries or troubles could reach him when he was flying. He’s always enjoyed that-- more so than the others probably ever have or would. They could fly too, but not like John did, who carried himself through the air with the flow and motions of the winds like he was born to do so. Everyone else just sort of… floated from point A to point B. 

They would never know the freedom that was flight. Not the _real_ thing-- the blissful pulsing of adrenalin when he’d plummet towards the ground just to shoot up again like a rocket, not the soft promises of a calm evening when he would let himself get carried by the current, like a feather floating gently by the hands of the breeze. 

John mourned that fact sometimes, wishing he could share the feeling with his friends. 

_Speaking of friends._

John glimpsed a cluster of giant, floating cement platforms in the distance, situated between the edge of the wheat fields and the start of the mountain range. They’d been put there by Jade and Roxy, who had been-- in their words-- unspeakably bored one day, and had through “shenanigans” created them out of thin air. Roxy had dubbed it the “get-together party point”, aka where they held the meetings nowadays so that they could have some privacy away from wandering inhabitants. 

As John descended, he could see Dave standing, hands in pockets, by the edge along with Karkat. Beyond them, everyone had gathered in a small group, chatting amiably with one another, probably waiting for him to turn up-- assuming Dirk had told them that he’d be there today.

It made sense that they were there earlier than him, considering everyone but John lived pretty close together, and in turn would arrive at almost the same time. Still, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as everyone quieted, heads turning to watch him lower himself onto the platform. 

Until Jade quite literally tackled him with a hug.

The force knocked John back over the edge of the concrete, and he had to catch himself and Jade with the wind so as to not fall ass-backwards into the ground forty feet below. 

“You’re actually here!” Jade exclaimed with a grin, pulling away from the embrace as John moved them both back onto the platform again. Once sat down, she put one hand on her hip, the other pointing accusingly at John’s chest as her face morphed into a frown. “Which has become a _suspiciously_ rare occurrence, lately!”

John opened his mouth to reply when Dave stepped up beside her. “And you decide to finally show your face, just when we’re planning to bust through your door and hijack you for your own good.” He shook his head. “We were gonna have so much fun and now it’s all spoiled, thank you John.” 

Karkat groaned. “I told you that whole fucking sadsack intervention plan was going to burn down in a tragic, disappointing inferno somehow. However we could miss ‘John’s impeccable sense of timing’ on the giant list of ways he’s fucked things up is beyond me.” 

John chuckled nervously, wringing his hands together behind his back. He hadn’t talked to any of these people in _months,_ and the sudden attention was making his limbs jittery. 

“Well, sorry to let you down!” he said, then hesitated, “Or… not? Considering if I hadn’t willingly showed up here you would have, like, forced me, so really it still would have ended the same way?” 

Jade crossed her arms and-- because she’d never stop acting like an actual five-year-old-- pouted. Said, “Still! Anything including a confetti-cannon is obviously the best way to do things.” 

John smiled at her. “I can’t argue with that!” 

Karkat rolled his eyes before turning towards Dave, stepping closer. “Anyways, dump-ass, Rose is starting the meeting in like a minute, so get in place soon, alright?” 

Dave nodded, giving him a little smile and a thumbs up.

Karkat smiled back and... looked like he wanted to do something, but hesitated, eyes flickering over to John for a brief moment before he looked away again. He turned on his heel with a huff and walked off.

In the brief seconds, John couldn't help but feel… cheated, almost. He noticed the way Dave and Karkat stood close-- but not too close-- together. Wanting to touch each other, but faltering because of John being there. 

Which bothered him, _hurt,_ in a way that he knew was unreasonable because hey, maybe they’re still just unused to the whole pda thing, and yeah, in the past John might have been a little weird about how literally all of his friends seemed to have fallen on the gay scale. Teenage him hadn’t really grasped the concept yet. It made sense that they wouldn’t do it as much around him. 

But it still hurt. Because it was like the two were putting on a show in front of him, acting like they were still thirteen, immature, and always fighting with one another-- because that’s how they thought John viewed them. He weren’t there with his friends on the meteor, never with this timeline’s Jade to grow up with. In their eyes, he hadn’t grown a single day. They never were themselves around him anymore.

Not like anyone had time to talk to him either way, what with their busy lifestyles as gods (and in some cases, CEO’s). They’re not going to spare a minute to talk with him, _really talk,_ because they don’t believe there’s anything worthwhile to speak about. 

Which was fair, honestly.

Jade tapped him on his shoulder, and John is snapped out of his thoughts. “Huh?” 

She arched a brow in question, dog ears focusing towards him like they were trying to detect something. “You, um, spaced out for a second there?” 

He waved her off. “It’s nothing! You were saying?” 

Jade doesn’t seem to have dropped whatever that moment was, but continued either way. “...Me and Dave were just saying how you should probably take your seat, It’s starting in a minute.” She grinned, then. “Rose has a really heavy stack of notes with her today, too! Seems like it’s going to be a long meeting, hm?” 

Dave groaned. Even, like, threw his head back all dramatically. “God damn it, why did we put her in charge of holding our fucking meetings again?” 

“Because we’re our own worst enemies, Dave.” Jade said, mock-solemn. She then turned to hover over to another platform, calling over her shoulder, “Now get in fucking place already!” 

\---

John didn’t participate much in the conversations anymore, he realized, as he absently watched the creators of the universe discuss what color and flower theme they should use for the spring festival that was going to be held in Cantown. 

Someone suggested white roses, which prompted a seven minute lecture in human culture and as to why white would be exceedingly inappropriate, apropos of Rose. Jade then argued that white roses weren’t _just for funerals!!_ which made the trolls ask what a funeral was, a question that in turn made Rose start another seven minute lecture.

So no, John wasn’t paying much attention. Nobody was paying attention to him, either, which he guessed was a plus in case his retcon powers started acting up again.

So instead, he scanned the half-circle of floating concrete and chattering gods, studying them in boredom.

On both sides of him sat trolls. Those trolls John never bothered to talk to, but thought was pleasant enough to be around, because unlike Terezi and Karkat, they were usually silent. 

John recalled the ones on his right being named Sollux and Aradia. However, he had… absolutely no idea who was sitting on his left! Not that it really mattered. John looked away.

Rose stood stood tall beside the even taller Kanaya on the highest platform, Rose’s duty as the self-selected chairwoman fitting her like a glove. Kanaya was tapping a pen to her clipboard, wanting to write something down, probably, but unable to because _everyone was arguing about flowers and death._ Both of them gave off a weird authoritative presence, like mothers overlooking a bunch of children. 

On their right, a little ways down, sat Roxy, Calliope and Jane, chattering to themselves. Jane was in a red suit, seemingly having just left work at Crocker corp. John couldn’t help but feel that old, inexplicable hatred for the old baking company return-- so he let his gaze drift away from the three of them. 

Dave, Karkat and-- oh. 

John paused as he saw Dirk sitting beside his brother on the platform, sipping an orange soda held in his hand. John hadn’t seen him arrive, which made sense-- Dirk had a tendency to just appear out of nowhere, something about never dropping the patented ninja schtick that the Striders had. 

John bit his lip to keep from chuckling. Why was this guy so ridiculous? He was even worse than Dave, who John was aware rapped to himself when he was left alone (or well, _thought_ he was alone. ha.)

John blinked in surprise when he heard his phone chime from inside of his pants. Who…?

he pulled out the phone and immediately found himself frowning at the screen. 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 04:31 PM

TT: Yo.  
TT: You havin’ fun, after all? I can see you laughing.

John looked up, and Dirk looked right back at him through his anime shades. That didn’t-- How the _hell_ was Dirk texting him right now? 

EB: how the hell are you texting me right now?!

TT: Oh.  
TT: I programmed a computer into my glasses a while ago. I’m transferring thought to text, here, bro.  
TT: Haven’t I mentioned this before?

EB: huh.  
EB: and maybe you have, but i don’t remember it.

TT: Fair enough.  
TT: Still, what’s so funny?

EB: oh!  
EB: it’s uh, pretty dumb. stupid.  
EB: don’t worry about it.

TT: I- Okay?

EB: anyways, when did you get here?  
EB: i didn’t see you earlier.

TT: A couple of minutes ago.  
TT: And yeah I arrived late, but there’s a valid reason for this, okay.  
TT: I was flying out here and there was this fucking bird, right? A seagull, and it was on my ass the entire time.  
TT: Do you know how hard those pricks bite?

EB: what.

TT: Like there was a seagull trying to nip me in the asscheek.  
TT: I don’t know if I pissed it off by flying over its territory, or something, but it was beyond mad at me, and my sweet derriere was the victim.

EB: dude. what the fuck.

TT: Exactly what I thought. What the fuck. What the fuck did god put in seagulls that made them so viciously evil? So bloodthirsty?  
TT: Their snapping beaks were relentless on my sweet, innocent behind.

EB: oh my god, shut up!  
EB: bluhhhh this is so stupid.  
EB: you could have just, you know, said you got sidetracked or whatever! jesus.  
EB: what were you ACTUALLY doing?

TT: I was showering, but you wouldn’t be grinning that widely if I’d have said that.

John immediately forced a scowl on his face. Looking up, he saw Dirk with a barely-there smirk, ever so smug. What an asshole. Instead of texting back, John shook his head and pocketed his phone all while glaring straight at Dirk. 

John _very pointedly_ resumed listening in on the discussion. Which he realized was just coming to an end. 

“So, we all agree on yellow lilies, yes?” Rose asked, and sighed in relief as everyone nodded. She turned to Kanaya, who was jotting it down in her notes. “Ah… is that the last subject?” 

Kanaya gave her a thumbs up. 

“Great!” Rose concluded, and faced everyone once again. “Now that that’s _finally_ dealt with, I believe we should be wrapping up this meeting. And, what better way to do that than with the weather forecast, hm?” 

To John’s surprise, she looked to him, expectantly. “Now that you’re here, John, I thought you may want to…?” 

“Oh!” John exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, sure. Why not.” 

He’d completely forgotten about this. Since people found out he could somehow (Calliope had said it was probably because his powers weren’t limited to the heir class, and this was edging on seer abilities) perfectly predict how the weather was shaping to be like, they had made him predict the weather every meeting. Like they used to in the old news channels back on earth. 

John closed his eyes, pretending not to notice how everyone’s attention turned to him, letting his focus fall instead on the feeling of the breeze circling around him lazily. Immediately, the soft currents stilled, and in his mind’s eye, molded into the shape of shifting clouds. 

Pictures formed, of wavering forests with trees that swayed forebodingly in the strong gusts of wind, and above them, ink-black heavens, only lit by flashes of lighting that extended across the skies like cracks on a screen. 

_Something was terribly wrong._

John’s eyes flew open with a sharp inhale of breath. His head throbbed with a headache, pain blooming in his temples. He blinked once, twice, letting the world slowly come into focus. 

Rose’s face, etched with worry, met his gaze from atop of her platform. “John? Is everything alright?” 

He hesitated, contemplating whether he should tell her about what he saw or not, before settling on an answer. “I’m okay! There’s just, um… it’s kind of weird? Uh, I guess I mean it doesn’t really seem very plausible?” 

“Oh?” Rose inquires, “How so?” 

Unable to meet her gaze, John looked past her, to the clear blue skies in the background. “There’s going to be a storm.”

\---

The meeting was quickly concluded, after that. 

Everyone but the Strider brothers, Karkat, Rose and Kanaya had went home for the day. Nobody had seemed all too worried about the fact that the weather was going to take a sudden turn towards the drastically worse, and had left the meeting without any other questions. 

Except for Terezi, who claimed his “winds were _bullshit,_ John!” before shooting off towards the distance with a cackle. John stuck his tongue out and flipped her the bird, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. The universe had to know how much he loathed her. Absolutely despised. 

Karkat cleared his throat. “Are you fucking done?” 

John tucked his hands back into his pockets and swivelled around to face him, smiling sheepishly at Karkat’s annoyed frown. “Haha, sorry!”

Kanaya placed a hand on Karkat’s shoulder, giving him an amused look. “Their jabs at each other seem to agitate you quite a bit, hm?” 

“It’s less fucking jabs and more plain, unadulterated hate-flirting. It’s awful, and they should both feel bad for subjecting my hear-ducts to the sound of it.” 

Dave nodded. “Yeah, shit man Karkat’s a real dutch girl, expose enough of it to him and he’ll get just awfully hot under the collar and suddenly have to excuse himself-” 

“That’s _not_ what I fucking meant, airhead!” 

“Airhead, damn, way to cut deep, babe.” 

Rose groaned, “Oh will you two _please_ shut up?” 

Once they reluctantly quieted down, she turned to John, all serious-like again as she spoke up, “Thank you. Now, John, you said there was a… storm on its way, right?”

“Yeah.” He replied, “Something like that.” 

Dirk cut in, which made everyone’s head snap towards him, like they’d forgotten he was even there beside Dave in the first place. “There’s no clouds or anything for several miles, though.” 

“I know! But, maybe it’ll happen later this month?” John shrugged, looking down at his shoes. “I never said it was a reasonable vision or anything, it might just be a mistake.” 

Rose frowned. “You seemed off-put, earlier. Like you had perceived something alarming.” 

“Maybe. It was, um, really dark. unnaturally dark, you know?” 

“I haven’t been able to see anything like that in my visions.” 

John chanced a glance up at her. To his surprise, she looked almost _scared,_ which made him realize this probably reminded her a little bit too much about, well, the game. Dreams and foresights of hundred different possible futures had plagued her during her time playing it, which took a serious toll on her and then some, if Dave’s to be believed. 

“Then it’s probably nothing!” John said, trying for a reassuring smile. “Maybe my powers hiccupped, or something.” 

She sighed, exasperated, _“Maybe,_ but I just… I worry, okay?” 

Kanaya swept up behind her, wrapping firm, gentle arms around her wife’s shoulders. “I’m certain it’ll be okay, dear.” 

Rose smiled, tilting her head back to peck at Kanaya’s jaw. “You’ll protect me from the storm, hm? Shake your chainsaw menacingly towards the clouds?” 

“Oh, certainly, honey, I’d never let anything hurt you.” 

John laughed as Dave shook his head in disbelief. Dirk snorted, clearly amused. 

“So are we gonna try and decide what to do with John’s vision today, or?” Dirk said. 

Rose looked to him. “Oh, we are, but it’s gotten awfully windy, don’t you think? My hair’s all getting in my face, and well, it’s probably better if we head to our house and discuss this. I can make coffee, if any of you want some.” 

John frowned. Windy? He couldn’t feel any w-- _oh. Oh, that’s not fucking good._

There was a familiar coiling in his chest, cold and unnerving, tense like voltage running through his veins, growing more prominent by each breath. Fuck. He’d thought he could have avoided this, should have seen it coming beforehand so he could’ve made an excuse and gone home. But the retcon powers had struck him by surprise, John having thought that maybe, just maybe, today he could see his friends without the thrumming power in his body wearing him down. 

He couldn’t let them see it. He’d avoided this so far, so why _now?_

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, nausea overrode his senses with a sharp twist that made his stomach turn dangerously. Suddenly feeling like retching, he couldn’t prevent his knees from buckling under him. At the last second, he caught his weight with his hands.

“John?” Dirk crouched down beside him. “Holy shit-- are you alright?” 

John flinched as he saw his hands splayed out before him, glowing bright as sunlight. He scrambled to get away from the others, desperately trying to hide his hands in his pockets again-- but something in his throat convulsed painfully, and by instinct his hands flew up to clutch at his neck. 

He heard the others yell, Dave in terrified confusion, Karkat trying to help, but Rose stopped him-- “Get away! Everyone, _get away from him!”_ She grabbed Kanaya’s wrist, pulling her with by force and trying to distance them from John. 

Dirk was still by his side, but even he was blurring out of focus from the tears pooling in John’s eyes. He couldn’t _breathe._ Something was clogging his throat, and he tried to cough, but something that tasted like copper filled his mouth, hot and awful and spilling over his lips and chin. 

Suddenly, a hand gripped John’s arm. There was a blinding flash of light, a loud _bang_ that made the concrete below crack. 

The platform crumbled around him, and the world turned dark.


	2. II - Dirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little weird. A bit wild, even. :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is... a lot longer than the first one. Oops.
> 
> So I just wanna thank everyone who took their time to comment on the first chapter, like, it's really just so unbelievable that... you all seemed to like it so much!! Wow!!! I sure hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Also, thanks to Jay who read through this for me and fixed my (many, plenty, frankly offensive amount of) errors. You're a saint.

Back in the drowned remnants of the world, when Dirk was only six and stupid and way too careless when it came to taking safety precautions, he’d started dabbling more and more in the world of robotics. Eager to finally do something that could possibly help him get closer to leaving his humble concrete abode, unsurprisingly he messed a couple of steps up in his hurry. Working on the prototype of Squarewave had gone well-- blueprints robbed straight off of skaianet servers-- up until he accidentally failed to block the power off from the core so it wouldn’t run through the cords. He’d ended up electrocuting himself as soon as his hand landed on the live wire. 

It hadn’t hurt too much, not really, but he’d been young and at the time it seemed a lot scarier than it actually was. In turn of that singular slip up, he had developed a slight, unreasonable fear of electricity (and lighting, for whatever reason his mind had to connect the two together). Or, what he’d _thought_ was unreasonable.

Now, after having felt the power John wielded run through his body like thunder at its raw, painful core, Dirk thought to apologize internally to his past-self for having mocked the fear. After Dirk had tried to grab John (whose eyes had been brimmed with tears, liquid light dripping down past his lips and onto the concrete) and shake him, or anything-- he didn’t really know what he would have done, just knew he had to _help_ \-- Dirk had felt the same feeling he once experienced when he touched the live wire, times a hundred. Like every molecule in his body had been picked apart and realigned.

He recalled how the two of them had fallen with the debris, but things blurred, blacked out, and reshaped after that. 

Dirk woke up nauseous, in a new terrain, a darker place-- to something sharp and painful digging into his back.

With a groan, he searched with his hands for leverage to push himself off of what he realized was a (now) broken television. He squinted at it as he righted his shades (that had previously been sitting askew on his nose), uncertain of how the hell it had gotten there. It was one of those old and boxlike ones, crumpled from his weight (which, what the hell, didn’t make sense because he was about as heavy as a malnourished chicken). And as he caught sight of the bloodied shards of the shattered screen, his hands moved to his back.

He dragged a hand up and under the hem of his hoodie, carefully feeling along the skin for any stray shards. He plucked the few pieces out that he could find with his fingers and hissed at the sting that followed. He flicked them away. Ignoring the slight trickle of blood down his spine, he took a couple of breaths in an attempt to orient himself, scanning his surroundings for anything familiar. 

Dirk felt his heart drop into his stomach as he realized where he was. 

All around him were fields of purple flowers ( _lavender._ He recalled Jade showing him these before, and the strong scent was easily recognizable) stretching as far as the eyes could reach, only disturbed here and there by flat rocks jutting out of the ground and stacking upon themselves like dull daggers. Littered randomly in both clusters and not, were televisions, just like the one he’d woken up on. They were the only source of light around, seeing as how the sky was obscured by clouds that, just like the fields below, went beyond the horizon. 

And as if on cue, a white text flickered into view across the clouds.

_Welcome to the Land of -͢͞-̡҉-҉ -͟-̸-̧-̶̴ -̨̢ and - --҉-̢̛ -̕҉͢I--- , Hero of Heart_

He ground his teeth together. Shit.

Dirk stumbled to walk, itching with a need to work the jitter out of his legs. Aimless, like if he just moved enough he’d be able to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of panicking. His head raced with questions. Questions like, what in the fuck had the universe decided to fling at him this time? And were the others okay? Why was there so many goddamn televisions? What did John even _do?_

His eyes widened behind his glasses with the sudden thought.

Hands cupped in front of his mouth, he called out, “John? Where the hell are you?”

When nobody answered, Dirk frantically scrambled to search the area. He looked behind the piles of televisions, flash-stepping (even though his head twinged with pain every time he did so) to check around the rocks, eyes seeking that familiar fucking bucktoothed jackass. He parted the lavender as he skimmed through the fields, squinting over the rim of his glasses to try and see anything through the dim light.

He raised his voice again, ignoring the slight waver. “Anyone?” 

Dirk’s heart powers weren’t responding, either.

Usually, whenever he focused in with his powers, the world went dark and souls would alight in different colors, making it easy to find people. This time, all he got was another twinge of pain ringing through his head. He felt inexplicably empty. Like a encompassing presence he’d had his entire life had disappeared, leaving him hollow. The constant, sometimes overwhelming _awareness_ of everyone around him had been cut off, blinding him. 

Dirk swore-- If he just got dropped off into some kind of hell dimension on his own without any prior warning, robbed off of his aspect, he will _piss in John’s shoes._

There came a faint groan behind him, and Dirk’s head swivelled towards the sound. 

He scanned the general direction he’d heard it from, the only thing that stuck out to him over there a large, flat boulder that appeared as though lit up by tv-screens pointing at it, centered at the spotlight. He jogged over to it, nearly tripping over an unassuming rock jutting out of the ground in his hurry. 

As he pushed the last flowers out of the way, he faltered, stopped in his tracks. 

John was leaning against the side of the rock, one hand clutching at his forehead (headaches for the both of them, yay) and one arm attempting to push his weight off of the ground, even though trembling limbs left him ass-bound to the ground.

And it was weird, seeing John in something that wasn’t the usual windsock getup. Nobody really knew why he took to wearing it all the time, but at this point it was just so usual to see him in anything else that it felt like spotting a rare cryptid. Instead of eliciting the urge to whip out a camera to get a blurry picture for the sheer irony of it, it only served to crumple whatever sliver of familiarity Dirk had left. Having lost the heir attire, John was instead clad in a forest-green jacket, jeans, and a grey ghostbusters t-shirt which was stained at the middle with red. 

_Blood?_

Dirk swallowed his unease, stepping forward to crouch down on his knees next to John, whose head snapped up to look at him, before instantly pulling a grimace as he seemed to remember his apparent headache.

He let his head loll backwards onto the flat stone, eyes closing. “You’re here.” He mumbled, voice hoarse, “are you okay?” 

Dirk considered this for a second, reminded of the way his back stuck slightly to his undershirt with slick blood, before settling on “...I’m living.” Then, “not certain if that’ll last long, though, if this place is really what it appears to be.”

John cracked a wary eye open to peek at Dirk. “What.” A question and a statement. An inquiry as to what the hell he was on about, and a declaration of dread.

“I think we’re back in the game, or something close to it.” He sighed, “I mean, look around for yourself-- tell me this doesn’t look fucking skeevy.”

John raised his head, and Dirk watched silently on while he scanned the surroundings. A furrow in John’s brow grew deeper with each passing second. “No.” 

“Yup.” 

John placed a hand on Dirk’s shoulder to steady himself, and pushed to a stand. He took a couple of cautious steps forward, to the side, back again, eyes anxiously flitting over the fields, and Dirk realized he was starting to pace back and forth.

What was first mumbled and incoherent, grew in volume as John took it all in. “No... no, no no _no,_ this has got to be- this isn’t... This is-- _fuck...._ ” 

“So I take it you didn’t move us here intentionally, then.”

“What? No.”

“Hm.” Dirk shifted on his feet, alarms going off in his head at the grim confirmation. “May or may not have thought you knew what this place was. I assumed that from the lightshow from before that you brought us here with the... juju stuff. That was the uh, the retcon powers, right?” 

“Yeah.” John frowned. “But I don’t control them. And I wouldn’t have just brought us to some… random stupid field where I don’t even have the godtier powers!” 

“You don’t?” 

“No. I can’t feel the breeze or anything.” 

“Shit. Mine wasn’t working earlier, either, I-” Dirk paused, hesitated. _Maybe it just didn’t work because he was too far away?_

He tried to focus in on John’s soul before him, jaw clamped in an attempt to get his headache to subside and for his mind to just work with him, searching for the familiar blue color that always shrouded John’s heart-- to no avail. 

“fuck, if neither of us have any powers then how are we... how... ” He trailed off. 

Dirk didn’t know what to say or how to continue where that sentence was heading, not wanting to voice his worries, and the silence hung heavy in the air between them. 

_What now?_

After the game had ended, Dirk had been forced to learn how to… wind down, more. Not always be so damn _tense,_ as Roxy had called it. She’d said he needed to stop planning for everything to go wrong, to not always expect the worst out of every situation. And with the help of his friends there to remind him and give a hand, he’d managed to quell the urge and not always jump to extremes whenever some mild inconvenience hit. Tried to reason with himself, disregarded the wandering thoughts that made everything seem like an abysmal crisis. But considering he had lived by the same frame of mind for sixteen years, it wasn’t surprising he had a hard time breaking the habit. 

And Dirk wondered if he should have tried breaking it at all, seeing as to where that had placed him. Stabbed in the back by a television.

John seemed to notice he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes, then. “Wait-- oh my god is that fucking blood?” 

He was staring down at the mess on his chest, and carefully, slowly-- as though it would suddenly grow fangs and bite his finger off if he moved too hastily-- reached a hand up to touch at it. “It’s… dry. And there’s a cut in the fabric here.” He dragged a finger over the ripped edges. “Weird.” 

“Remarkable,” Dirk said, decidedly not letting him there was an even bigger gash at the back of his jacket, “You got your phone on you? I’m trying to contact the others through my shades and it’s... not working.” 

His attempt at trying to pester Dave with an ‘I lived bitch’, proved futile, with his screen immediately flashing _‘this chum has yet to be created!’_ back at him in a blaring yellow text. Dirk refused to think about it.

“Um, I don’t know?” John patted down his pockets and rattled through his sylladex. “...Nope.” 

“Shit. Well that settles it, I guess.” Dirk sighed. 

“Huh?” 

“We’re fucked, irretrievably.” 

“Oh.” 

\---

They had, for lack of any other ideas, began to wander the planes in silence. Dirk followed in John’s wake, watching the screens of the televisions with ample curiosity as he passed them by. 

There were video snippets displayed, weirdly enough.

Some showed everyday life back on old earth, some not-- the session they played being showcased here and there, if you looked closely enough to recognize it. Distant, unexplored galaxies looped in short sequences, crackling with static that Dirk knew was usual with the old VHS tapes he’s seen referenced and copied through effect editing in both movies and games. He found it half charming and half stupid that for whatever reason, as soon as humanity had access to better technology, they wanted to emulate the older, more flawed kind. Like replicating nostalgia. 

It made the clips that would have been boring oddly familiar-- near personal. Reminded him of the shitty video tapes that Dave had left behind in the ocean apartment, taken with an old-ass camera from the ancient days of 1995 or something just because the ironic quality of the videos looked like the type that a stereotypical dad would find in some lost corner of their storage while scouring the house in boredom, bringing them up for the whole family to watch and weep in embarrassment over. As you do.

(He’d always wondered if it meant Dave had wished they could have had moments like that-- normal life cliches be damned.) 

A flash of color broke the static, someone sitting in a study painting the same stroke over and over again on their canvas, like a broken record. Stuttered movements that never amounted to anything but existed as a pretty prop to something irrelevant. The top of a grass-hill that looked out over a sleeping village, and on another screen, a hand pulling on the string to close an array of blinds, shutting out the scowling daylight. A woman flipped a pancake with her spatula, a cat watching from her shoulder. 

Maybe that would have been nostalgic for him, hadn’t he grown up alone in the remnants of a drowned society. 

Then, there was a giant disc spinning, spinning along forever against a backdrop of red-hot lava, bubbling thick as syrup underneath. Rain, bright and colorful as neon drizzled against white, chalk-like beaches. A golden moon drifted in its orbit around Skaia, like it always did and always would, in every universe. A pair of orange wings bristled.

All on repeat. 

The complete silence (which was weird-- he recalled distantly that during their session, soundtracks played in different areas of the incipisphere, like a part of the background noise) apart from their footsteps was stifling. Downright eerie. Not a single rustle of wind passed over the fields to rustle the flowers.

Dirk thought, absently, that he was distracting himself. Both from the steadily growing anxiety at the pitch of his stomach, and from John.

He wanted to cut the quiet between them. 

Though, he knew he couldn’t open his mouth and start talking just for the sake of filling the silence. Mainly because he was aware he’d mess up even the most Basic Conversation for Dummies what with his usual social tact, and partly because he was a coward and John was giving off some major ‘one step from snapping’ vibes he didn’t want to fuck with. 

Rigid shoulders, movements too sharp-- John’s entire demeanor was tinged with frustration, even in the way he walked. 

Dirk wanted to know if he’d done anything wrong, and if he could fix it, somehow. If John was mad at him, he’d understand. He wouldn’t want to be stuck with a jackass like himself, either. It wouldn’t be past him if he’d missed some vital, implied piece of communication and accidentally insulted like seven past generations of John’s family in the process. And maybe John was smiling along amiably because he was just polite like that. 

Though the thought seemed unlikely. 

After the game, along with the other three of his friends, he’d had time to get to know the pre-scratch humans better. In short terms? They were the improved versions of themselves. Rose was similar to Roxy in a lot of ways, like how she gave advice and her inherent drive to aid others. He liked her, but she was too much like himself to really make him want to get too familiar with. Out of the four, he particularly admired Jade. Jade was like Jake, driven with endless optimism and determination, yet still with enough scepticism and a sense of leadership in her that traces of Jane shone through. She was kind, selfless. Perfect in the way Jane and Jake would never be. 

John was a lot like her. He was… hard to pinpoint, honestly, just as much of an enigma as Dirk always wished he could be. While incredibly emotive, Dirk had never been able to get a good read out of John-- never quite figured out what his intentions were. One thing was for certain, though. John hasn’t ever been the cruel kind. He had a reputation of being unable to hate anyone in that raw, platonic way that made your blood boil, never held anything against his friends without telling them. 

At least as far as Dirk knew.

His thoughts were cut short when John slowed to a halt before him, and flowers rustled as he turned around.

“Something up?” Dirk asked.

John’s gaze was unfocused, trained on nothing in particular and not meeting Dirk’s eyes as he replied, voice oddly subdued, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about... all of this.”

“Huh?” 

He looked up, and Dirk was relieved to see John’s anger dissipate in the dim screen light as he did so, eyes so slightly softening around the edges. But then he looked more downcast than calm, and Dirk-- didn’t know what to do with that.

“I could have prevented this,” he said, finally.

Dirk leaned back to sit on one of the televisions, crossing his arms. “How?” 

“It’s, I mean, I… if I would have stayed away from everyone it would have been okay, and you wouldn’t have gotten swept up in this, whatever this stuff is.” 

“It’s not as though you could have known that the juju was going to pull a stunt like this all of a sudden. It’s not your fault.” 

John looked away and chewed on his lip, a nervous tick if he’s ever seen one. “No, it really is my fault. There’s been, um, occurrences? Sometimes, like every few days, I get these…” he paused, seemingly mulling over his word choice. “Attacks.” he made a face, backpedalled, “No! Not attacks, because they don’t hurt or anything it’s usually fine and all but--” 

“Dude,” Dirk interrupted, “what the hell are you on about?” 

A sigh, “You don’t… I think I should just start from the beginning.” John said, sitting down beside him. “Right after we won the game.”

\---

“I didn’t mean to really keep it a secret from anyone, okay? But everyone was so happy! People were so much more… i dunno, better, together with the people they like. They didn’t need me to come in and take their time because I couldn’t deal with my problems on my own like everyone else could.” 

Dirk frowned at him. “The- we’re your _friends,_ John. Why would you assume we wouldn’t want to know about this, especially if it was hurting you-- not _physically,_ at first, maybe, but it deliberately made you stay away from us because you wanted to keep it hidden.”

John brought his legs up on the tv, and hugged them to his chest. He shrugged. “It didn't bother me. They-- I mean... I thought it would stop soon, anyways.” 

“Well, it fucking didn’t.” _And what if it never would have? Would you have kept it a secret for eternity?_ he bit back, unsure of his place. 

He knew he should have said something else, there. Something reassuring. Nobody else was really handling what the game spit out at them well, but. They were handling it together, right? He couldn’t understand how none of the others, especially Jade and Rose and Dave who were so close knit to one another, hadn’t noticed John was acting weird. They talked to each other a lot, right? They always spoke so fondly of him. 

What had he been missing?

“There’s no way you kept this to yourself just because you didn’t think it was necessary to tell them.” Dirk said, more of a mumble to voice his thoughts rather than an accusation. He realized John must have heard it anyway, from the way he tensed up. “It’s something about the others, isn’t it.”

John paused, giving Dirk a sideways look that he couldn't decipher-- empty yet scrutinizing, calculating. Then, letting go of his legs, he scooted forward until he promptly pushed himself off of the television. 

The flowers crumpled beneath the soles of his shoes.

“There isn’t anything wrong, like I said,” John stated, voice even, “and you really don’t need to keep track of what I do or do not tell my friends.” 

Dirk wasn’t exactly a long-since childhood friend that John grew up and faced the end of the world with or anything, but the thought that John apparently didn’t regard him as a friend at all was, well. Disappointing.

“Evidently not,” said Dirk, resolutely uncaring if he sounded bitter, “though you not telling anyone about it is how we got into this bullshit in the first place.”

He expected John to tell him off, but. Instead he just took a deep breath-- and Dirk thought he saw his hands flicker with white light for a split second-- before exhaling a sigh. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m sorry.” He turned to Dirk, who snapped his gaze back up from John’s hands to meet his eyes-- even though he probably couldn’t see what Dirk was looking at behind the shades. “There’s probably like a bazillion better ways I could have handled it, and I should have told you and the others that everything wasn’t… that the retcon powers were acting up. But I didn’t, so.”

“...So?” 

“What I’m saying is, what do you expect me to do about it? Because as far as I know, we’re pretty much stuck here.” 

Dirk shrugged, feeling his irritation seep out of him as he sighed, “I don’t know. I really wish I had a plan or something, but I don’t.”

“Okay.” John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain, “Okay yeah, then I don’t see why we don’t just like, continue. I’m sure we’ll find _something_ if only we walk far enough.”

There was a pause, a silent contemplation, and Dirk nodded. John seemed to think that was enough of an agreement and turned on his heel, starting down the same direction from before with Dirk following right in his tracks.

“Hopefully we’ll find that something soon!” John voiced over his shoulder. 

Dirk grunted a non-committed reply, watching the way John’s jacket rode up along his arms-- honestly looking a little too small on his built frame. 

Near to everything about the way John carried himself, tone to word to movement, seemed too calculated to be genuine-- a manner Dirk was familiar with from own experience. Though, it wasn’t like he had much past interactions to compare from. Had he known John better, maybe he would have been able to get more out of him, but it wasn’t his place. If someone was giving off every major hint that they didn’t want to talk about something, he should probably take the cue, shut up and let it go, but. 

Somehow, that thought did nothing for Dirk except make him more curious. 

During the session-- right before he and Dave had flung themselves into battle against the three Jacks together with Terezi-- he recalled (though it was brief) how he’d listened to Dave talk fondly about John, who he still thought of as his best friend even after they’d been parted for three long years. Dirk remembered how he’d wanted to learn more about him at that moment, the leader in blue with the kind, old eyes. 

An idea started forming in his head.

He fell into step beside John and nudged his arm with his elbow, and John inclined his head towards him with an inquiring “Hm?” 

“You know how Roxy used to pull lightening rounds on everyone she hadn’t gotten to know yet on the lilypad, after we won the game?” 

John nodded. “Yeah, she and Aradia went on forever with that.” 

“Right.” Dirk fought the urge to rub the back of his neck-- a habit that not only made him look like a ridiculous shonen anime protag, but reminded him of his (more) awkward past interactions from when he was sixteen. “Well I was thinking, if you’re up for it, we could do the same? This is the first time we’ve ever been alone together, after all.” 

“Huh. I guess that’s true for you, yeah.” John said. Then, smiling at Dirk, “But sure! Not like we have anything better to be doing.” 

“Alright. I’ll start,” Dirk said. “What the fuck do you mean with ‘for me.’”

"Oh, um.” John shrugged with a shoulder, “It was in a different timeline… but I’ve actually been alone with you before! Briefly. Though everyone was all dead and stuff except for you and Roxy, but like we didn't know that she was alive so you told me to leave you alone to the um, glitchy stuff. Then you just sort of, like, disintegrated." 

Dirk stared at him, bewildered. "The fuck?" 

"Haha yeah, tell me about it! It was really dramatic," John chuckled, as though he hadn't just told Dirk that he literally watched him die once. Then, "I guess it's my turn to ask, now, huh?" 

"I... Yes. It's your turn." He thought it better not to ask further. “Go wild.”

"Hm. What's the best thing about living on new earth?" 

“That I can just go places.” He responded, nigh instantaneously. “Wherever and _when_ ever I want.” 

Dirk had considered this topic before. He’d sought out, over the years, what was inherently different between his old home and Earth C-- carefully testing out the boundaries of the new world just to find that there was none. Even if the crowds and the constant reminder that there were souls, _living people_ , surrounding him at nearly all times, he could always just disappear to the ocean, to familiarity. Or, should he remember his inherent immortality, into space, where everything was silent but for his own heartbeat.

“That’s understandable.” John conceded. Then, “I mean, it makes sense with how much of a social recluse you were when we lived in the shared house, haha. Like, did you ever leave your computer? Glad you finally figured out you could go outside!” He said, snorting in amusement at Dirk’s affronted expression. 

“Fucking rude, John, what the hell did I ever do to you?” 

“Aww haha, I didn’t intend to be mean or anything! But really though I think your skin was shrivelling up from the lack of exposure to the sun at one point. It was sad.” 

“Oh what fucking ever, it’s my turn to ask anyway,” Dirk said, furrowing his brow as he thought. “How come you… okay, so Dave told me the glasses you got for him were Ben Stiller’s. Where the hell did you get them?” 

John grinned. “Oh man, I actually just found them on some random internet bidding site! I spent too much money on them, honestly. I’d meant for him to wear them as a stupid dare or something, but he’s literally like, genuinely attached to them now. It’s pretty funny.” 

“He told me something similar once. Still, I guess I thought there’d be some connection to how my bro acquired them. Or more about why, really. I know he got them as a gift from Stiller-- but, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Huh.” John looked away from him, shrugged. “I can’t say I know enough about your guardian to tell. Maybe there’s a connection to be made there that I don’t know about.” 

Sincerity never sounded quite right in his voice, always ended up slightly off at the tone or delivery, but, “To tell you the truth I’ve sort of… given up... at trying to get to know what my guardian was like,” Dirk said, “Used to wonder if he’d live up to my expectations. But if he’s anything like Dave, then that’s even more than I could hope for.” 

At the same time, he also knew that they’d always be different, and that he’d always feel different about the two. He loved Dave, he really did, but Dirk didn’t think he’d ever stop wondering about the alternate version of him, and how he was unlike the others. He’d felt like a distant older brother to him before, during the time he spent a throwaway in the deserted sea, but after he’d gotten to know this Dave, it was like… he worried about his ancestor. Carding through the story of how he’d faced the apocalypse and the finned devil who caused it with a sword in hand and dying as a hero in the process, but viewing it in a different light. Had he been happy, knowing that he’d inevitably die one day in a futile last stand to try and save humanity? Because he must have known _something_ about the future if he knew Dirk was going to be born. Did he even have any friends? Was he and Rose friends as though bound by blood, or had the universe taken that away from them, as well?

It had been a weird thing, to have lived his entire life up until meeting Dave with an idealization of how his brother would have been like-- the smooth-spoken hollywood director from interviews who was the absolute textbook definition of inscrutable-- to then find out that no matter what, he would only be human. 

Weird, and definitely jarring. 

John smiled at Dirk, eyes crinkling at the edges as he spoke, “Aw, you really do care about him a lot, don’t you? That’s really... nice. It’s what he deserves, you know?” 

Dirk nodded, afraid he’d ruin the moment if he opened his mouth to point out the fact that his presence was probably the least of what Dave needed around. He couldn’t really help looking like a copy of his alternate self, but he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t, either. 

Whenever Dirk accidentally slipped back into his usual habit of keeping his expression plain (gained from months upon years of never having to react to anything because there was no-one around to see or care), it made Dave anxious. He’d try to make amends for it, to better himself and pay more attention-- but it was never, _ever,_ enough to make up for the bad years. He’d always, inevitably, misstep somewhere along the line, and Dirk would have to rewind, start over. Plan again. 

It was an unspoken subject, obviously, but everyone who loved and cared for Dave (which is a safe category to assume John fell into) got at least the gist of what had gone down in his past, with his shit guardian and the shittier abuse.

He thought it awfully selfish of himself for being unable to just get done with it and leave already, to save Dave the trouble of asking. Maybe, he thought, being displaced in this desolate version of the game was a good thing, then. He couldn’t hurt anyone he knew as long as he was stuck here.

Well, except for John. He wondered how long until he inevitably fucked up this time, as well. 

His eyes averted and trained on the passing televisions, watching them with idle interest as he avoided John’s gaze. Like if he let him see too much of his eyes, he’d see right through them and pierce his shield, pin him down and pick him apart. Find out what he really was like, and hate what was there. 

Disregarding the fact it was a sudden change of subject, he spoke up again, quietly.

“It’s your turn.” 

“Wha- Oh! Right.” John said, and hummed in thought for a moment as he searched for a question. “So… like. Dave denies it, but are you aware that your shades just look really, really stupid?” 

“Like hell they do.” 

\---

They wandered, chattered, and walked even more-- walked until their legs ached, and carried on persistently throughout even though their ankles bent painfully when they misstepped on the uneven ground. 

Since when, Dirk wondered, had the soft soil turned into rocky plains? There were still flowers, and if possible, more televisions, but somewhere during their path, the amount of pebbles, rocks and gravel had started to increase a ridiculous amount.

They had walked for what felt like hours-- Dirk tried to set a timer in his glasses since they began walking, but for whatever reason the application glitched out and wouldn’t open. Eventually, Conversation had trickled down into a few remarks of strange things they see on the televisions as they walk by. He realized soon enough that John, just like himself, was growing tired. 

It wasn’t until a fateful moment in which Dirk had caught his foot and tripped on a rock jutting out of the ground, that John proposed that they should stop to rest for a while. 

And so, they had found an unassuming plot of land, circled by a dozen televisions whose screens all conveniently faced outward, their backs forming some sort of shoddy replacement for walls. The light was dimmed immensely within them. 

“You’re _completely_ sure your ankle isn’t sprained?” John stressed, prodding carefully with a thumb over Dirk’s foot joint as he checked for any swelling. “I’d rather not have to carry you, you know!” 

“Alright first and fucking foremost, I said I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Secondly--” Dirk retracted his leg from John’s lap to bring them closer so he could fold his arms over his knees, and scooted over to rest against the side of a tv, “nobody said anything about any carrying.” 

“Pfft, okay fine, Mister Strong and Totally Invincible, I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Great.” Dirk mumbled, letting his head fall forwards into his arms. 

They lapsed into comfortable silence. 

His mind wandered, like it usually tended to do. Dirk had questions which he knew all too well he wouldn’t find any answers to for a long while-- if ever.

He mulled over the possibility that it was some kind of dream bubble ripoff, but in that case they would either be sleeping or have died. Death seemed unlikely, considering their pupils hadn’t gotten glazed over with white, and Dirk had always been able to control when he left and entered the dreaming dead's world. 

He wondered if their retracted-- _stolen?_ \-- immortality and godhood meant they had to die on the quest beds again. Or perhaps they were still gods, and this place just worked as some kind of dampener. 

The land was strange, which wasn’t exactly any riveting fucking news, but was more clear now that he really thought about it. The televisions had access to footage from beyond the game, from different moments in time-- there’s a slight possibility that they’ve travelled back in time. For all Dirk knew, this place could change their lives on Earth C via butterfly effect on a universal scale. 

But for all that the land was, it wasn’t very cold. Maybe the static from the many screens emanated some kind of heat, maybe not. Either way, Dirk was far from freezing. The warmth inside his hoodie felt like it seeped, thick as molasses, into his bone marrow, making his eyelids lead-heavy. 

Dirk reached back and pulled his hood over his head, electing to try and catch some sleep. Though he knew he’d usually have a very hard time straight up doing so on the spot, exhaustion had worn him down significantly. 

He cast a side glance towards John, who he saw was lying on his back in the lavender, breathing deeply.

Dirk shut his eyes, warm sensation enveloping him as he nodded off.

\--- 

He’d think of himself as forever thankful of his past and lingering habit of sleeping too lightly, when he was roused from sleep by a nearby hissing noise. Groggy, mind still clouded, Dirk cracked open his eyelids. 

At first he found he was unable to detect anything but the blurry glow of distant screens as he tried to adjust to the darkness. Then, perched on top of the televisions, Dirk was able to make out an ink-black shape, shifting in its place. Long fangs protruded from its jaw, hanging like icicles and dripping with black goop. A colorful jester costume, hat and all, adorned it.

It took him a split second to process what it was, snapping awake.

First, with a muttered rap, he whipped his arm out to grapple the hilt of his katana buried in his strife modus. Second, a step like a flash, and he’s bringing the blade down onto the spawn in a vicious arc.

Cut in half, the imp made a distinct _poofwas that oil?_

He leaned down, cautiously drawing his index-finger against the liquid, catching some of it on his skin. Dirk brought it up to his nose, smelling it. Like he expected, the stark scent of petroleum was clear as day-- just like what fuel used to run his generators and miscellaneous machines back in the ocean apartment, before he’d stolen the uranium cores from the evil fish-bitch’s drones. 

“Sheesh.” came a voice from behind him, and Dirk spun around, startled. 

Leaning against the colorful handle of the Zillyhoo, John stood, looking at Dirk with a crease in his brow-- _wasn’t he fucking asleep?_ “It looks like we weren’t alone here, then. Huh, It was ages ago since I last saw one of those things.” 

“...Do you make it a habit of keeping that ugly fucking thing in your sylladex?” Dirk said, nodding pointedly towards the warhammer. 

John grinned, grabbing it and hoisting the entire thing like it was nothing over his shoulder. “Yep!” 

“Jesus.” 

“Anyways,” John walked up to him, tone settling into something more serious as he motioned with his other hand past Dirk. “Look.”

He turned his head.

The sea of electronics that they’ve been navigating through previously was flickering at the border of the horizon. 

Darkness-- holding nothing, blank and just as terrifying as void-- crept in like ink bleeding through paper, destroying their only source of light as it made its way across the map, slowly but surely nearing. 

“We should probably get going.” John said.

“Dude I only got like two hours of rest. At best.” 

“Well. Too bad!” He said, placing a hand on Dirk’s shoulder as though the chipper dipshit was giving him any kind of reaffirming pearl of wisdom. “But unless you wanna get super duper familiar with the approaching void-- which may or may not hold enemies, I don’t really care?” 

“What if I suddenly pass the fuck out, then, leaving you to drag my unconscious body across the map lion-and-prey-in-the-serengeti style, not unlike the valiant hero that handles a drunk yet fair maiden? I feel that my integrity, as well as ego, would crumble with that knowledge. It’d be devastating and I may sue-- then what?” 

“Then I’d say maybe work on your rambling tendencies, you sound too much like Dave, and also shut up. Please shut up.” John retracted his hand, starting to turn away and walk again, hopping over the circle of tv’s as he went.

Dirk followed, reluctantly, keeping his distance from the pointy end of the hammer. “Can I revoke my earlier statement? Please carry me.”

“Nope! No take-backsies.” 

“Damn.” Dirk sighed-- as though he’d be able to sleep anyways. He hooked his katana into his belt loop, figuring it would be quicker than if he kept it in the sylladex. 

They moved along. 

Somehow, as though it was some kind of punishment for even daring to try and catch a wink in this place, enemies had started to form. By tenfold. 

Imps, basilisks, liches and even the odd ogre in the far distance, swept along the plains. Some black, dripping with tar or fossil fuel, some blue as cobalt.

John mostly let Dirk do the killing. Now that they weren’t god-tiered anymore they couldn’t risk getting the attention of an ogre with too much noise, even if it would be a stupid death. Cutting through the enemies with the blade, cleanly, simply, was much quieter than if John would smash them into bits.

As they fell into an adequate monster-slashing pattern, it all suddenly struck Dirk as somewhat familiar.

During the session, back when he hadn’t yet fucked things up (or before he’d realized he had) with Jake, he and Dirk had raided the ruins of his planet and hunted the skeleton creatures for grist. Mainly because he’d wanted time alone with Jake, and partly just to waste the hours doing bullshit and getting ready for the next big thing to happen. Not unlike what the two of them were doing, currently. 

That had been comfortable, something that he’d expected to get out of the game. Fighting enemies and gaining loot and winning, winning winning, until they didn’t, anymore. 

Game Over hit, obviously, but that wasn’t the point he was getting at. 

The whole, like, and-then-they-lived-happily-ever-after ending to it all had seemed so fucking backwards in hindsight to what Dirk really deserved, when he’d woken up on the peaceful green fields of Earth C. He hadn’t grasped the thought that they’d done it, actually won, with him _still alive._ He’d expected to be left behind, at best. What use could he have to anyone, now that everything he’s worked for had been completed and his friends were alive? 

It had taken so much _effort_ to try and let himself believe that he wasn’t living in the end-credits of some way overdue story. So much time spent on mending things between his friends, between those he’d wronged without meaning to, because he’d thought that finally he’d get to have a chance to be happy. Not that he could ever really get to the point of believing he deserved it, but. He berated himself, though let down, for thinking he’d be safe after they had won the game. 

Should have seen something coming, and prepared for it. 

Dirk realized as soon as he took a too-drastic swing at one of the basilisks (a fatal cut through the neck) that the spots dancing at the edge of his vision should indicate exhaustion and hunger was messing with his head. The thought of stopping to rest again occurred to him, which he then ignored, buried it deep down so it wouldn’t have the grounds to be anything close to a suggestion so he could keep on pushing forward. 

He stabbed through the (supposed) heart of an imp that had been in their path, piercing through its chest and out on the other side. Drawing the blade-- which dripped with black-- he stepped away quickly before the underling poofed like a sad, anticlimactic burst bubble. Took a breath through gritted teeth. 

Dirk couldn’t help but startle slightly as a hand was placed on his shoulder. 

John slid in front of him, expression soft but eyes a pinpoint of focus, boring into him with not an unkind scrutiny. His hand squeezed slightly-- a gesture he’d learned was meant to be reassuring-- before pulling away, settling to stand in front of him close enough that Dirk had to tilt his head slightly back to face him. The rest of the world is drowned out, null to the two of them.

“It’s going to be okay,” John said, genuine enough that Dirk let himself believe he wasn’t soothsaying things for his sake. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Dirk nodded, unable to think of anything to say in return. 

And when John whispered, “I’ll find a way out of here, trust me,” he believed him. 

\---

Maybe the case was that John had some reality-defying intuition, or maybe he was just lucky, but it took approximately two hours (what else was he supposed to do other than count the minutes) before they found something. 

After the terrain had gone from Rocks With a Sprinkle of Flowers to _Pebble Hellscape,_ Dirk and John had found-- carved right through the highland-- a gaping, glowing crater. Wider than a football arena, it was shoddily cut out of the ground, as though someone had tried to make a circle by punching it in with a giant ungodly fist. The edges were steep, reaching about fifty feet down, until it met white matter. 

A familiar spirograph shape, green and shifting, was circling in its place at the bottom of the glowing pit. Light particles stirred, drifting upwards a ways until they dissolved into nothing. 

John broke the silence. “A gate? Really?”

“That’s even more proof,” Dirk sighed, leaning back against a nearby boulder and letting his body slide down to a sit, legs folding underneath him, “We’re definitely back in the game.”

“Jeez...” 

“Yeah. You think it’ll take us out of here?” He glanced towards John, who stood overlooking the gate with a frown. 

The lighting coming from the crater below lit his features in a peculiar way, his thoughtful expression emphasized as shadows formed over the bridge of his nose. John’s eyes couldn’t be seen, hidden behind the white light reflecting on the surface of his glasses-- and Dirk found he couldn’t catch a single hint of what John was thinking. 

He took a breath, face turning towards Dirk, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, to jump headfirst into it. We don’t know where it’ll take us, so I mean, for all we know it could make it even harder for us to leave!”

“Honestly, John, I do not have the capacity to grow a singular fuck to give if we do, I’m convinced my stomach will become self aware and implode in on itself-- It’s only a matter of time.” he placed a hand on his stomach absentmindedly. “If there’s food on the other side, I’m already halfway through jumping in. And you know what? Even if there was a bullshit hell-pomegranate kind of deal and it traps us here for eternity, I’d still eat the metaphorical forbidden fruit. I’m on the verge of starvation, here.”

John snickered, captchalogued his hammer and sat down beside Dirk with a huff. “Way to be dramatic! If you were hungry you could have just said so, I have a bag of taco chips in my sylladex if you want some.”

“I’d ask why you have a bag of taco chips in your sylladex, but also, _gimmie.”_

“Pfft alright, dude.” John struck his hand out, grappling at nothing for a split second until suddenly, with a rustle of plastic, he held a package between his fingers. He gave it to Dirk.

Dirk, who immediately sliced it open with the katana. 

He ignored John’s snort of amusement in favor of reaching into the bag and seizing a good handful of chips. Turning his hand around as he pulled it out, he cupped his hand to be more like a bowl. With his other hand, he picked and raised a chip to his mouth.

He had tried tacos before. Jane, though a greater baker than cook, had tried to recreate them from memory one evening, practically locked herself within the confines of the kitchen until the recipe sufficed and stayed true to her memory-- and it had instantly become a favorite amongst everyone, both human and alien. Especially Roxy, who claimed she could probably eat nothing but tacos for the rest of her life and be perfectly content with it. 

Only Dirk didn’t have any topping, and so the chips pretty much tasted like nothing but salt and bland nothingness. Still, he ate near half of the bag, the ache in his stomach subsiding, if only slightly.

He paused, glanced at John. “You... don’t want any?” 

“Huh? Oh, no I’m good.” He said-- sounding distracted, scuffing his foot absently at the ground and sending pebbles rolling down the hill.

“Really.” 

He sighed, facing Dirk, “Seriously dude, keep it! You need it more than me, with how much you were whining earlier.” 

Dirk opened his mouth to protest- 

When for a split second John’s eyes flitted to the left, over Dirk’s shoulder. They widened with a sharp, terrified gasp, and then John had snapped a hand up to cover Dirk’s mouth, the force of it pushing his head against the rock.

Bewildered, he grasped at John’s arm and tried to pry it away from his _fucking mouth,_ what the _hell_ \-- until Dirk caught the frantic _“shhh!”_ coming from John. His index finger was pressed to his lips, eyes pleading for him to supposedly shut the fuck up.

Dirk, confused, slackened his grip and mouthed a _‘what?’_ as John withdrew his hand. 

He leaned in, voice a sharp whisper.

“There’s um,” He squinted towards the fields behind Dirk, “ _three_ ogres walking around over there.” 

Slowly, Dirk turned to peek around the boulder. And he had to wonder, then, how the everloving fuck he hadn’t been able to hear them coming. They were making their way along the hills, purposeful steps carrying them with a droning confidence that reminded him more of cpu’s carrying out code commands-- pushing rocks out of the way and crushing televisions under their feet as they moved. Tar dripped from every part of their bodies, skin oozing the stuff like their veins were trying to rinse out the disgusting grime. It soaked through the colorful jester clothes and ran down their gritty, uneven white tusks, leaving black liquid to pool between the rocks and crevices in their wake. 

The smell of them hit his nostrils, suddenly, and Dirk felt his face contort at the dizzying fumes. 

The ogre farthest to the right opened its jaw and let out a growl that reminded him of marbles rubbed together and forks on chalkboards. Found himself flinching when he saw the many rows of shark-teeth shifting like waves inside their maws.

He wouldn’t be able to take all of them down without losing a limb in the process. There’s no way.

He felt the impulsive need to back down and press himself against the rock behind him-- to sink into it and hide until they had passed-- run down his spine. He gripped his katana beside him, turning a wary eye to John.

“Please tell me you have a plan.” 

WIth his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, John leaned away to press the heels of his palms against his temples, frowning. “I don’t know. Well. I mean-- it’s either we sneak up behind them and try to take at least two down by surprise attack, where you stab one or something and I put my hammer to good use, or we could--” he paused, jerking a hand up to motion with a thumb behind him and tone dropping low into disdain, “--jump through the gate.” 

“I’m guessing you’re not too sold on the latter.” 

“No,” John stressed, “We don’t know what’s in there! What if that’s where the monster dudes are coming from, huh? That’d be really shitty. Do you want us to have it really super shitty?” 

Dirk scowled, “Obviously _not,_ John, I’m just saying that I’d rather not risk getting my ass fricasseed and served to me on a silver fucking platter by these guys, alright?” 

“They’re not _that_ b--” 

Cut off at mid-sentence by an all-encompassing _CRACK_ in the air, John didn’t get to continue. Like lightning, it was loud enough to make both of them flinch, and Dirk’s head whipped around, searching frantically for the source of the noise. 

There was a moment where the enemies grew silent and the televisions paused their looped sequences, everything coming to a standstill as though the land held its breath. Then, with a pitch sharper than needles, came a vicious scree from the heavens, a coiling shape descending through the stormclouds. 

Dirk stilled, caught off-guard by the sheer _size_ of it-- no other word to describe it better than indisputably _colossal._ A slithering shape with a tail that trailed behind like a silk streamer, emerald in color. Circling where the neck would be was a twirling halo in the shape of a green sun, a symbol he has previously seen embroidered on Rose’s god-tier clothing. Its iridescent lizard-head split at the mouth into a snarled hiss. 

_“Typheus?”_ said John, managing to sound both incredulous and reverent at the same time. “Oh dude, we are… _beyond dead.”_

Dirk would have just about shat himself right then and there.

The ogres certainly seemed to share the same sentiment, because in the next second they’re all scrambling to run away as fast as they could-- which wasn’t very fast, for as far as beings made of tar went. To his surprise, following them came a handful of imps that had seemingly popped out of nowhere, darting between the televisions away from John and his hiding place with panicked urgency. In fact, several other underlings scuttled after, some letting out dismayed gurgle-screams as they ran for their lives. 

The noise and movement snatched the denizen’s attention, and its head snapped towards the monsters. Dirk saw the tail flick to the side, coiling like a spring, before it lunged itself forward, looping once in the air as it shot in the direction of the monsters, jaw opened to make that awful, shrill scree again. 

Except, emanating from under the scales of Typheus’ throat, Dirk’s eye caught sight of something glowing within. Before he had time to process this, from the mouth of the denizen a beam of white light was fired into the hillside.

The bedrock fractured with another _crack_ , and his head started ringing with a single, deafening tone. 

John appeared to be yelling something at him, shaking Dirk by his shoulders, but whatever it was he said fell on flat ears.

Though the beam had hit a good deal away from them, the following shockwave kicked up clouds of grey debris which washed over the planes. Dirk had just enough time to inhale deeply and grab John by the shoulder-- tightly holding onto him as the wave of dust swallowed them whole. He held his breath for as long as he could, brow pressed against John’s sleeve in an attempt to protect his eyes, but once his lungs started contracting painfully in his chest, Dirk gasped, then immediately choked on air and fell into a coughing fit. 

A hand clapped repeatedly against his back in a soothing notion, and after his chest stopped heaving, Dirk slowly opened his eyes to see John kneeling beside him as the dust settled around them. John’s head was still turned, gaze set on where the denizen was floating suspended a short distance away from the ground, nose down as it circled the charred remains of monsters and flowers-- as though it was sniffing after something like a hound dog. 

John said something, tone urgent with words that Dirk couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

He realized it must have been some kind of warning, when he’s suddenly grabbed by his collar and dragged upwards to a stand. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he stumbled after John, who was pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie to make him follow. Dirk complied wordlessly, head swimming with equal parts confusion and resignation as John led him away. He tried to gain a grip of the situation, but it was disorienting to feel the way his heartbeat thumped against his chest when he couldn’t fucking _hear_ it. His feet landed on the ground in an uneven tempo, the silence making it hard to focus and repeat the motions. 

It wasn’t until John hesitated in front of him that Dirk realized where they were going. He cautiously stepped forward, peering over the edge while John gripped his sleeve tighter.

The gate, imposing in its shifting place, seemed to glare right back at him, accusing. _Where will you go now?_

Dirk threw a glance backwards, and then wished he hadn’t.

Typheus’ head raised from the ground with a final puff of air from its nose before inclining towards John’s and his place at the border. A singular slitted, golden eye scanned the planes, before catching sight of the two of them-- pupil instantly dilating. 

Through the muddled clouds of his thoughts he realized his hearing was returning. Either that, or the ground shook enough by the force of the piercing scree Typheus let out that Dirk simply picked up on it through some kind of reversed echolocation. 

And he felt his heart drop, past the stomach and through the bowels, because when he flinched and stumbled back, his foot was met with nothing but air. 

Reflexes kicked in, arm shooting out in a frantic attempt to grab onto something, _anything,_ and John-- _oh no_ \-- didn’t seem to expect to be yanked by the belt with such fucking force that his knees give out from under him, and he yelped in alarm when they both tipped over the edge, yelling incoherently.

The last thing Dirk saw before he hit the swirling center of the gate was a singular golden eye, glaring down at him with ire hot enough to boil blood.

**Author's Note:**

> I very much appreciate any comments you have!! It keeps me motivated and lets me know you liked what I wrote.


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